Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Pissed off or Pissed On?

This happened several years ago, when I was just starting out at the jail. There are few young women that work there, but my partner in crime and co-needer of bail money and I happened to be working on the floor together. I haven't come up with a nickname for her yet, but most likely "Pitbull" would fit. I'll have to think of a good nickname for her to use on here. She is all of 5'00 with her boots on and maybe 90 pounds with her belt. But she will scrap like none other and will kick some ass. The problem that both of us have is we both truley believe we are ten feet tall and bullet proof. It drives the LT nuts but it's not gonna change anytime soon. We are both hard workers and have an abundance of energy that never seems to burn off. I mean, c'mon, my nickname at work is "Hammy" from "Over The Hedge".

So we are working together, running circles around the boys, and just being super awesome. We get a call that there is a combative, drunk female coming in the sally port. So being the curious sort that we are, we head on out there to roll out the welcome mat.

We pull her out of the car, and she is DRUNK. Like can't even talk or stand drunk. We give her a PBT to make sure she doesn't need to go out to the ER and she blows a .28, which is three and half times the legal limit. Oh, and she is crying. I can handle drunk women. I can handle angry women. I don't like drunk emotional women. Maybe I'm missing something in my character, but I just can't deal with these little drama tards.

This girl is just too drunk to leave on her own for awhile, so we opt to take her into the jail before the paperwork is done and get her somewhere she can lay down and sleep it off. Of course she is wearing her hooker gear with a pair of thigh high black prostiboots, so now we have to try and change her out. We basically carry this girl to the cell and are trying to help get her undressed and changed into a jumpsuit. And then she starts fighting.

Now our single holding cells are four feet by six feet and contain a single bench mounted to the wall and a toliet/sink combination thing on the other side. There is just no room to fight. I have been tripped by the damn toliets more times than I can count and even kicked one one night after it tripped me. So now we are fighting with this girl who can barely stand in a room not big enough for three people, and it was just super.

We are able to get this girl pushed facing up against the wall. I am on her right side, with my left leg locked behind her right leg, and my wanna be UFC fighter co-worker is on the left side with the same thing. We now have this girl completely locked in between us and the wall to where she can't move. She is still trying to fight but doesn't have anywhere to go.

And then I feel it.... this warm, wet sensation on my left leg. Right about this same instant my co-worker feels the same on her right leg. This bitch had started pissing on us! While she was fighting! And we couldn't let her go since she was still fighting, so we both had to stand there and get pissed on until she was done. And being the good little drunk she was, she peed for a very long time. And let me tell you, the entire jail heard us yelling. I'm pretty sure it sounded something like this, only in stereo:

"Did you just fucking piss on me? Are you serious? You pissed yourself, and pissed on me? You couldn't hold it for five more seconds? YOU FUCKING PISSED ON ME!"

Of course that is paraphrase, as it has been several years since it happened, but I'm sure ya'll can use your imaginations to picture just what was said.

Well of course our yelling had attracted a lot of attention, and now we have everybody from the jail and half the patrol staff standing outside the cell watching us. And laughing hysterically.

And we are just standing there holding this girl up, waiting for her to finish. There was not much else we could do at this point.

And then to add insult to injury, now we have to undress this girl and put her in a jump suit because she is too drunk to even unbutton her own pants.

We finally get her changed out and laying down sleeping and come out of the cell. This whole process had to have taken about a half hour. When I walked out of that cell I was out of patience and felt disgusting. So now we have to go throw this girl's clothes in the wash, put OUR pants in the wash, and go shower. It was disgusting.

But it did teach me something very important - It is much better to be pissed off then pissed on. And I would know.


  1. Found your blog through Momma Fargo. So glad! This experience is both horrifying and hilarious. Thanks for sharing, glad I wasn't there. :P

  2. I'm thinking I would request a biohazard suit for working with the drunks. Just a thought.

  3. Blech! I have kids - so I've been peed on many times, but never by some drunk twit... Blech!

    How 'bout "Scrappy Doo" for your friend? From Scooby Doo - the tiny little nephew that would never turn down the chance to 'scrap'? Look him up on YouTube.

  4. You have to admit that on the street she would have won with that move.